


Second

by SGSKHKT



Series: Of Wrens And Kestrels [1]
Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Gen, Jack is Whipped for Davey's accent and it shows, M/M, Spot is a teasing Bastard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:35:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25665247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SGSKHKT/pseuds/SGSKHKT
Summary: Logically, Jack knew Davey was from Brooklyn.
Relationships: Implied David Jacobs/Jack Kelly, Minor or Background Relationship(s), VERY BACKGROUND Spot Conlon/Racetrack Higgins
Series: Of Wrens And Kestrels [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1861198
Comments: 6
Kudos: 62





	Second

**Author's Note:**

> Based on my concept from 'Brooklyn's where' except better written

Logically, Jack knew Davey was from Brooklyn.

He never showed up where the Manhattan newsies collected their papes and he was always crossing the Brooklyn bridge all willy-nilly.

Plus, he told Jack he was from Brooklyn.

Which is why Jack really shouldn't have been surprised when Davey pulled out a fucking _slingshot_ from his bag and shot down a bottle with terrifying accuracy.

But he was.

Because _holy shit, Jacobs._

And _what the fuck, Brooklyn?_

"Knock knock?" Davey asked, a hint of nervousness in his voice as if he hadn't just _fucking shot down a bottle_.

Jack shook himself out of his shock.

"Hey Mouth, it ain't everyday yous shoot ya slingshot in Lower East Manhattan," he said as casually as possible which was hard because _what the fuck._

Davey laughed, still with a hint of nervousness.

"I'm here on official business."

Jack suppressed an eye-roll.

 _Of course_ Davey was here on official business.

He was _always_ here on official business.

That was the reason for the hoity-toity middle-class accent too.

_"Hey, whys you's speakin' so fancy?" he had asked the first time he and Davey has a proper conversation._ _Davey had frowned, confused._

_"Fancy?"_

_"Yea, you's speakin' fancy. Like Weasel and those business guys. Ain't you from Brooklyn?"_

_Davey had shrugged._

_"I'm here on official business."_

_"You's sellin' papes."_

_"It's still business."_

"What's Conlon want?" Jack asked, in the present.

"A meeting with you and your Second. To discuss selling spots and the like. Now."

Race perked up, always eager to meet Spot for reasons Jack could never understand.

Who liked Spot Conlon?

Race, apparently.

Jack folded his arms.

"What 'bout his Second, then?"

"Excuse me?"

"Ya heard me. Whys Spot always gotta talk to me and my Second but ain't never got his Second around- Not that I mind."

It was true.

All the inter-borough meetings had been him and Race speaking with Spot and had Davey stand aside awkwardly.

Davey just stared at him.

"You don't know who his Second is?"

Jack frowned.

"Why would I?"

Spot Conlon chose that exact moment to walk in.

"What's the hold up?" he snapped and Jack suppressed the urge to roll his eyes again.

Spot turned to Davey.

"You's tell him yet?"

Davey nodded.

"He's wonderin' 'bout where you're Second's at."

 _Thank God for official business_ Jack thinks, or he'd be screwed if he had to hear David Jacob's Brooklyn accent every time they spoke.

But also _thank Spot_ for bringing out Davey's Brooklyn accent because _Jesus Christ._

"My Second?" Spot asked.

Davey nodded, looking like he was biting back a smile.

Then both Brooklyn newsies burst into laughter.

"It ain't that funny, Conlon," Jack growled.

Spot smirked.

"It's pretty funny when my Second's sellin' on your turf and you ain't even know he's my Second."

What.

Spot's Second?

On his turf?

Not in another borough like Queens or The Bronx.

Not even somewhere else in Manhattan like Harlem or Midtown.

His turf.

Lower East.

_What the fuck._

"Ay, Jacky-boy you's aight over there? I can practic'lly smell the smoke,"Spot asked, laughing.

Jack glared at him and while Spot did stop laughing, he still had that fucking annoying grin on his face.

Davey apparently decided to put Jack out of his misery, coughing lightly to get their attention.

"I's Spot's Second, Jackie."

Oh _fucking hell_ his accent was so ho-

Wait.

Nevermind, apparently Davey was not putting him out of his misery and instead was a bastard that enjoyed seeing him suffer.

Spot burst out laughing again.

"Ain't your Second called Wren?" Race asked, frowning.

"Ain't Cowboy called Sullivan? Us newsies can gets as many names as we's see fit," Spot countered.

"Why didn't you's tell me you's was Spot's second?" he asked Davey, ignoring both Spot and Race.

Davey smiled sheepishly.

"You ain't never asked. Plus, Spot ain't just gonna send a nobody to the turf nearest to the bridge."

Okay that made sense but _still._

"Sorry, Jackie," he whispered.

All is forgiven. Love is real. And Jack Kelly is fucking whipped for David Jacobs.

Spot rolled his eyes.

"Quit ya thinkin' cowboy, let's talk business."

Love is fake. Fuck Spot Conlon.

**Author's Note:**

> Headcanon: The Brooklyn boys also have nicknames relating to birds.  
> "I'm hearin' things from little birdies...They're chripin' in my ear"  
> "Maybe you traded them to some chicken for that beak of yours"
> 
> So Davey's Wren because according to Wikipedia: "Wrens are small and inconspicuous birds, except for their loud songs."  
> and Davey talks Too Much
> 
> Spot's would be Kestrel because they're small but deadly birds of prey that kill with their beaks. Re: "Maybe you traded them to some chicken for that beak of yours"
> 
> Davey probably came up with the names but it was 100% Spot's idea.
> 
> Anyways, as always, leave a comment and/or kudos if you'd like and thanks in advance if you do  
> 


End file.
